Wrongs Righted
by BaldiDaughterChevy
Summary: A collection of one-shot tags for plot-holes that I thought needed filling. Ch 1 voicemail fix, ch 2 souless Sam cleanup, ch 3 Sam and Mary bonding, ch 4 Let it Bleed tag. Hope to add more soon!
1. chapter 1

**So, some of you have been asking me to write the voicemail fix-it tag and I was just sort of stuck on it for awhile because it's been done so much and she well by better authors than me. But I really had to try my hand at it sooo here it is! In all it's angsty, weepy, glory!**

 **Thanks SO MUCH to the lovely Lucyh95 for helping me formulate the idea to add Jack into the mix on this! You really got the ball rolling for me.**

 **Let me know if it's woefully ooc. I thought it was a major enough discovery, and one that's been brooding for such a long time, to allow for some real brotherly bonding but...being the drama queen that I am I may have...ahem...overdone it just a tad.**

 **Rated T for language.**

 **Don't own the boys. If I did you can be sure I wouldn't have left this particular plot-hole unfilled.**

 **Oh, one more thing. I've got a few other gaping open wounds to stitch up; wounds that the show-writers have let fester for far too long, and this fic will hopefully become my fix-it fic. So stay tuned for future installments.**

 **Ok, I'll stop talking now.**

 **I promise.**

 **(Hi.)**

 **I'm sorry.**

"Sam?" Dean comes wandering into the main room of the bunker, looking for his brother.

Jack is sitting at the table hunched over a phone, his eyes mesmerized by something on the screen. He looks for all the world like an ordinary teenager, absorbed in some game or social media.

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes and says "Jack, where's Sam?" but Jack doesn't respond, still locked onto whatever flashing lights and sounds are happening on the device he's holding.

"Jaaack? Jack?!" Dean walks over and cautiously nudges the boy in the shoulder. He's still pretty wary around the nephillim, not wanting to scare him and accidentally kick-start doomsday.

Jack responds but barely. "I don't understand." He says, still not looking up from the phone in his hand. "Why does rearranging the candies in order cause them to explode? And why does the chocolate one electrocute everything? Also, why don't any of these candies have nougat?"

Dean stares at Jack like he's sprouted horns, a possibility which, now that he thinks of it, doesn't seem that unlikely in the near future.

"What?!" He snaps.

"Nougat." Says Jack looking up at Dean with serious, quizzical eyes. "It's a sticky, sweet, delicious kind of filling in candy bars. I tried one back at the police station and it's very good."

"Yeah, Jack. I fucking know what nougat is." Dean runs a hand over his mouth and tries to reign in his frustration. "What the hell are you even talking about?" There's a long pause where Dean and Jack just stare fixedly at each other. "I just explained." Jack says and turns the phone towards Dean. "It's some kind of entertainment application called Candy. Crush." He enunciates each word clearly. "I'm not sure what the point of it is exactly, but it's really shiny." He smiles, a silly, innocent smile and Dean realizes how much of a kid Jack still is.

"That's nice." Dean's losing whatever patience he had in the first place. "Where is Sam?"

"Oh yeah, Sam. He went out to get some supper. He said he was getting salads for him and me and a cheeseburger for you because you 'don't care about your body'." Jack does air quotes.

"So Sammy's trying to make you into a health nut too, huh?" Dean snickers. "You're not gonna like salad. I got news for ya, it doesn't taste like nougat."

"What does it taste like?" Jack squints and tilts his head with an expression that's remarkably like Cas.

"Picture slimy, flavorless, grass with nuts and berries mixed in."

Jack scowls. "Why would anyone want to eat that?"

"Why indeed, Jack." Dean nods. "Hey, where exactly did you get an iPhone anyway?"

"Sam leant it to me. He said I needed to familiarize myself with it because he's gonna get me one."

"Fancy." Dean says snidely, "Although, I think you should have to get a flip phone first, just so you can understand the struggle of trying to text on one of those primitive things."

"What's a flip phone?"

"Never mind." Dean says "You'll never have to worry about it. Benefits of being a gen Z kid, I guess."

Jack is scrolling through the different pages on Sam's screen when he clicks on the phone icon.

"So I just click on this and I can talk to Sam or Cas or...you?" He adds Dean as kind of an afterthought, his gaze flickering up him, nervously.

"Yep." Dean replies, unimpressed.

"What is 'voicemail'." Jack does air quotes again and Dean laughs, in spite of himself and sighs

"Who's been teaching you to do air quotes?"

Jack looks at Dean and narrows his eyes, "Cas does that. He said it's cool."

Dean laughs out loud at that. "Oh dammit. You know what? I might have been responsible for that."

He's quiet for a minute, then continues, "So a voicemail is when you call someone and don't get an answer. It's just leaving a message for them to be later. You'll get that a lot with Sammy." Dean rolls his eyes. "Kid's always got his phone silenced. Here, play one and I'll show you."

Jack scrolls down the list and presses 'play' on the very last message.

A voice, distorted and low-quality, like it came off an ancient cell-phone, rattles out from the speakers. It sounds just like Dean's voice, but it's not quite right. The tone is vicious and cutting and oh god...those are certainly not Dean's words.

" _Listen to me you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam--a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back."_

The voice cuts out into silence and the mood in the room shifts dramatically.

Jack's eyes lift towards Dean slowly, a look of disgust and anger on creasing his smooth features.

Dean is sitting absolutely still. If he were anyone else you might say he looked like he'd seen a ghost, but nothing as simple as a ghost could put this look on Dean's face. He looks like someone has sucked all the breath from his body, the blood draining from his cheeks.

"Was that you, Dean? Did you really say that to Sam?" Jack whispers, incredulously.

"Let me see that phone." Dean gets up, practically stumbles over to Jack, and grabs the phone out of his hand. Jack jerks back in surprise, but lets Dean snatch it from him without a word.

Dean taps the screen to wake it back up and stares at the date beside the voicemail, lost in a world of his own.

"That's...but...that's, no..." he mutters to himself and throws Sam's phone on the table like it's red hot and burning him. Then he sits down heavily in the nearest chair.

"Dean?" Jack is worried.

"I didn't...that's not..." Dean is trembling slightly and shaking his head while he murmurs.

"What is it Dean?" Jack leans forward, fearfully he grasps Dean by the shoulder, trying to gently shake him out of whatever trance he's fallen into without awakening his wrath.

Dean doesn't snap, or shout or fight back, he doesn't even register the kid's presence.

"I did not say that." He whispers. Then he picks up Sam's phone with a look of stone-cold anger and for a second he thinks he will smash it into bits, burn the bits, stomp on them for awhile, and then burn the ashes, just so he never has to hear that fucking awful message again.

He gets up, after awhile and grabs Sam's phone off the table, holding it away form him with utter disgust, the way you'd hold a dirty diaper.

"Tell Sam to come find me when he gets back. I'll be in my room."

Jack doesn't know what to else to do, so he nods, silently, sensing that whatever is going on here is not something he needs to be involved in anymore.

Dean wanders off to his room, weaving and stumbling like he's drunk.

He finally makes it to his room and he just kind of crashes onto his bed, sitting down heavily and holding his head in his hands while his brain races with a million thoughts.

It's all starting to come together in his mind.

This was the betrayal that started it all.

Sam killing Lilith, breaking the final seal, letting Lucifer out of the cage, the fucking apocalypse and Sam's sacrifice and eventual return to him. Soulless Sam, and then traumatized Sam, afflicted by hallucinations and memories, nearly dying from lack of sleep when the wall crumbled.

All of these events that set each other into motion, like a horrible cascade-were all because of their broken relationship-because of him. It just clicks into place in his brain, like a final puzzle piece. Everything is because of Sam's despair brought on by this one stupid, horrible message. All of that carnage, all the death and grief and agony of the past 9 years, it could be traced back to this horrible misunderstanding. To the fracture in their brotherhood brought on by Dean's own mistrust in his brother that led Sam to believe he would ever say anything so horrible.

The awful sound of his own distorted voice keeps echoing in Dean's ears and he feels so many things at once that he can't even identify exactly what he's feeling.

Except guilt. And rage. And grief. The big three emotions that Dean feels on practically a daily basis, swirl through him with white-hot intensity, battling for dominance-and finally he settles on guilt. It's the most familiar.

The message may have been intercepted and twisted by Ruby or Zechariah or whatever supernatural dickhead was screwing with them the most at the time, but it was his fault that Sam would even believe he'd said that. That was on him.

Dean settles back onto his bed, leaning against the headboard, and picks up a half-empty, warm beer from beside his bed. It's stale and watery but he takes a long swallow, then another and another. It tastes awful but Dean doesn't care-it takes the edge off of his conflicted thoughts.

After awhile he gets up paws around inside his bureau drawer, looking under ammo and flannels and family photos until he finds the bottle of whiskey he keeps stashed there.

He sits back down on his bed and doesn't even bother with a glass, just takes a swig right out of the bottle.

It doesn't take long until the room is spinning and he is afraid to get up for fear of falling over or being sick. He feels half-alive, but at least the raging storm of pain and guilt inside him has soothed to a battering drizzle.

"Dean?"

He hears Sam coming down the hall a bit too late, and he rushes to clean up his act and appear more sober, an effort that just leaves him looking guilty and awkward, arms crossed over his chest and eyes too purposely focused, as Sam appears, standing in his doorway.

"Jack said you wanted me for something?" Sam steps into the room. " I brought dinner." He barely glances at Dean, then does a double-take. Dean looks up, clearing his throat and trying too hard to hide the fact that he's mostly shit-faced.

Sam raises his eyebrows in disbelief "Are you drunk, Dean?" He snickers, then his eyes fall on the iPhone beside Dean. "Hey, what the hell are you doing with my phone, man? The whole point was for Jack to get familiarized with it. You using my damn *phone* for porn now, or something?"

Sam stalks into the room, picks up his cell phone, and unlocks it, then freezes when he sees which voicemail is cued up.

His eyes dart away instantly and Dean swears that the look that flashes across his face is 100%, horrible, overwhelming, shame. Even in his drunken state that pain cuts through Dean like a silver blade through a blood-sucker.

"I'm sorry." Sam whispers.

Dean's head shoots up at that. "What?!" His voice comes out louder than he intended. "Sammy, what the hell, what are you fucking..." he loses track of what he's saying and just sort of dissolves into random curses. A sort of foul-mouthed, slurring, gibberish most likely brought on by alcohol and emotion.

"I'm sorry." Sam repeats. "I don't know why I saved it, I just...sometimes I needed to remind myself what I really...what I really was." Sam's voice wobbles and he turns around and starts to walk out.

"Sam." Dean says it quietly but so commandingly, that Sam stops and turns around.

Dean sits up as best he can, swaying slightly and maybe it's the alcohol or shock, or fatigue, or all of the above, but suddenly there's tears in his eyes. Dean's about to cry. And Dean never cries. Sam stands stock still, a look of shock and disbelief on his face.

"Dean?" He says, taking a tentative step towards him. "Dean...oh my god, what?"

"It wasn't me, Sam." Dean's voice is harsh and wrecked as he chokes the words out through his swollen throat. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, trying to rid himself of this undignified swell of feelings. "It wasn't me. That...that wasn't me...oh my god, Sam, that was never me." He's stuttering and panicking and shaking his head "You have to believe me."

He's practically babbling and Sam is still standing there, blinking as his big, strong, soldier of a brother threatens to break apart in front of him.

"Oh my god, Sam. I can't believe you saved that all these years, and I can't stand it that you would ever think I could say that to you. I would never threaten you. I could never call you a freak. In never lost hope in you. I mean, I doubted that we could win so many times, but I didn't doubt the good in you. You're my baby brother..." Dean breaks off, his words are tight and high-pitched and slurred with drink and emotion. He wishes he could say how much he loves him, he wishes he could get those words out, but he just can't speak another sentence, so he sits, staring into his lap.

Sam doesn't say anything right away. Then, after a beat, he just crosses the room in a single stride, and Dean feels the bed sink down as Sam sits beside him.

"This wasn't you?" He asks simply, holding up his phone.

Dean lifts his head and he looks intensely at Sam. He doesn't say anything, he just shakes his head and hopes that Sam can see the truth in his eyes.

"How do you explain it, Dean? I mean, it occurred to me that someone might be messing with us... but...I guess I thought you were right ...you know...it's what I deserved after all that I'd done. All that I was planning to do."

"Sam," Dean still sounds frantic and he rubs a hand down his eyes, trying to compose himself. "But it wasn't me. It was the angels or the demons or something, but I wouldn't say that. In fact..." Dean takes yet another deep breath, " I said something a whole lot different. I don't remember exactly what, but I mean, you would have been proud of me. It was Hallmark quality, dude. I told you I wasn't dad, I shouldn't try to control you...I said I was wrong, Sammy. Cause I really was. A-about...e-verything."

Dean fades out yet again. He hasn't stopped looking at his little brother the whole time, his eyes are burning red with unshed tears and the stress of this conversation, but he just keeps staring pleadingly at Sam.

"Okay." Sam says it so quietly Dean almost doesn't hear him even though he's sitting right beside him.

"Okay, okay, okay..." he repeats over and over again, like his brain is shorting out.

He keeps rubbing the scar on the palm of his hand, hunching over into himself, and sort of hitching his breaths, like he's unable to force air into his lungs.

"Sam?" Dean says with concern. "Sammy, you alright?"

Sam's still repeating 'ok' to himself and kind of trembling all over now.

Dean reaches over and puts a hand on Sam's shoulder, just to steady him, just to keep him from falling off the bed. The effect is unintended but immediate. Sam leans over further, trying to hide behind his hair, and presses both hands to his mouth. It does little to muffle the choked sob that swells and bursts from him.

Dean feels his heart split in two, he almost wants to check his shirt for blood, see if he's actually wounded through his chest, that's how bad it hurts to see the pain he's caused Sam.

"Aww, Sam. I'm so sorry." Dean breathes.

Chick flick moments be damned.

Dean grabs his little brother by the shirt, and drags him over, tugging him into his arms.

It's like a scene from a million times before when they were kids. So many times when Sam had a nightmare, or when he'd gotten hurt, or when he found out what their dad did for a living. When Sam found out that monsters were real. When he'd been asked for the thousandth time about his mom and he had nothing to say and it became too much. After their dad would come home hurt and half drunk and kick Dean around because nothing was right and he didn't know what to do with his anger and Dean would just take it silently. Oddly enough it was always Sam who cried afterwards. Dean would hold his little brother and comfort him as the bruises slowly spread across his flesh. When Sam had gotten his heart broken for the first time. When he'd lost Jess. When he'd lost Madison. So many times, Dean had comforted his little brother. That was his job and he was good at it. But this time is a bit different. This time it's Dean who was, unwittingly or not, the cause of Sam's pain. And Dean holds him all the tighter for that.

"Shhh..shhh.." Dean hushes Sam, trying hard not to choke on his own tears. "I can't believe you ever thought I would think that. I'm so, so sorry, Sammy."

Sam's tears last a long time, 9 years of grief and fear and loneliness and self-hatred flowing out of him in one, long, never-ending torrent.

Eventually, Sam sits shakily back, embarrassed but too exhausted to care, and starts to dry his face on his sleeve, wearily.

"Here." Dean grabs a handful of tissues from the box at his bedside and gives them to Sam, who wipes thankfully at his sore eyes.

"I ruined your favourite shirt." Sam sniffs apologetically and nods at Dean's shoulder.

Dean laughs in spite of the current mood. It's just like Sam to be worried about something so trivial at a time like this.

"Hardly ruined." He shrugs.

They sit next to each silently for awhile, Dean watching Sam out of the corner of his eye as he keeps brooding.

Sam's voice is thick when at last he speaks again, but he gets the words out.

"It's not your fault, Dean. It's not my fault either. I think I finally realize that now. We were played, Dean, but you know what? We figured it out. Only took us 9 years and almost destroying the world a couple times, but we figured it out."

Sam smiles then. It's a pure, unpolluted look, so bright and peaceful, its a look that Dean hasn't seen light up his little brother's face in so many years. Maybe since their prank war so so long ago, when his floppy-haired, doe-eyed little brother had sat across from him and smiled with a strength that burned-out the sun.

Dean smiles back, but it's still a painful, guilty smile that tugs down at the corners as he thinks of all the times he's rejected his little brother, made him feel like he was an outcast and a freak. It was all said in rash moments of anger but he can see how it fed into this cycle of self-hatred for Sam. How it made him reject everything about himself, made him suicidal and hopeless and dimmed the light burning inside him.

"It's ok, Dean, really." Sam says. "It's ok now. I finally understand it all, don't you? It's our bond that saved the world, Dean. I'm proud of everything we've done with and for each other. We saved the world a lot of times before, and we will this time too."

Dean nods. "I can go along with that."

Sam is still smiling that golden smile and Dean feels himself lifted near him, warmed with the happiness and relief that is radiating from his brother.

"Guys...?"

A voice echoes down the hall and suddenly Jack is standing in the doorway. "Are you ever coming out? Dean, your burger is getting cold." Jack stops when he gets a look at the brothers.

"Sam? Are you ok? Why are you crying?" He asks it so simply and openly, with the concern of a child, and Sam chuckles a little through his happy tears.

"Is everything alright?" Jack repeats.

"Yeah, Jack." Sam nods and stands up, then reaches out to help his still inebriated older brother to his feet.

"Yeah. Finally. I think, everything is really good for right now."

~end

 **I hope I gave Sam his much needed breakdown over this without crossing the line too much. At the very least, I hope I warmed your heart with a bro hug and a little of Jack trying to fit in :)**

 **Let me know what you thought! Be brutal or be flattering or be whatever you want to be, just talk to me!!**

 **Love you guys!!**


	2. Talk Therapy

**Just a filler for Sam finding out about the events of 6.5 "Live Free or Twi-Hard".**

 **Takes place in season 8, after the events of "Freaks and Geeks" because that's the next time they use the Vampire Cure. I was sketchy on the dets of that episode so I glossed over that a bit.**

 **I find Jared's ability to portray SoullessSam to be an absolute miracle of acting, I mean one look and you can just tell it's not Sam. I don't even know what he's doing exactly but he looks like a totally different person.**

 **That said...I MISS SAM ,( his puppy eyes and his compassion and concern...I just miss the real Sammy.**

 **So this tag is just because I wanted a reaction to what happened to Dean in that episode and I felt like Dean needed to talk about it but I'm a little worried because I'm afraid that I'm repeating the show somehow. I can't remember if the boys ever had a conversation about this, but if they did, then I haven't gotten there in my rewatching just yet. Sorry if this tag is redundant.**

 **I'm not Kripke.**

 **T for Dean's mouth (hehe I mean language...although Dean's mouth is so pretty it should be R-rated. ;)**

"How did you know how to make that vampire cure?" Sam is leaning back on the motel bed while Dean cleans a shotgun. His long legs are stretched out and he's holding his laptop and typing away with that intense look that he gets. "Back at the cabin after Seth turned that girl. I need to know so I can put it in my journal." He continues as he writes.

"You saw what was in it," Dean replies nonchalantly , "Biggest thing is blood of the fang that turned you, and some garlic and sage. You mix it up and as long as the new vamp's still a blood-virgin, then it's back to apple pie and PTA."

Sam stops typing and looks up at Dean. "Ok, but how did you learn that?"

Dean shakes his head and shrugs a little,"you know what, I don't even remember, Sam. You don't really need your little diary to be that detailed do you?"

"You don't remember?" Sam squints in disbelief. "You don't remember where you learned how to make a magic cure that turns vampires back into humans?"

"I got a lot on my mind, Sammy, I'm not as young as I used to be. I guess I just forgot." Dean starts cleaning the rifle in earnest, not looking at Sam who's now staring intensely at Dean.

"Dean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, I'd just appreciate it if you didn't lie."

Dean still doesn't say anything, just keeps going over that rifle, polishing the barrel up and down with gun oil until it's shining, and rubbing varnish into the stock.

"Wow. It must be pretty embarrassing if *you* don't want to tell me." Sam persists.

"Would you just drop it, Sam?!" Dean is getting frustrated and Sam just won't let up.

"I wouldn't even have been suspicious, Dean but you're just being so secretive now."

Dean pushes the gun away angrily and goes to the cooler beside his bed for a cold beer. He cracks it open, sits down on the edge of the bed and sighs.

They sit in silence for awhile, Sam pretending to write again while he watches Dean out of the corner of his eye.

Dean runs a hand over his neck and takes a long swig of beer, then reaches into the cooler again and gets one out for Sam. He opens it and hands it to him.

"I didn't actually ask for..." Sam starts to say and then takes it when he sees the look on Dean's face.

"I got something to tell you, Sam."

"Okay..."Sam shifts nervously, feeling a twinge of anxiety at the serious tone of his older brother's voice.

"I got something to tell you," Dean repeats "but, I don't wanna tell you unless you promise me you aren't gonna freak out on me. Because this isn't anything that I blame you for, it's just one of those things and it couldn't be helped."

"Okay, Dean you're scaring me now." Sam is sitting up straight and holding his forgotten beer in his lap, the condensation making a ring on the leg of his jeans.

"Oh, Sam. It happened awhile back, you lost your soul and you weren't right. And I knew it, I knew somethin' was off but I didn't know what."

Sam's eyes are narrowed and he's barely breathing as Dean speaks.

"It was just a vamp hunt, just a normal, everyday vamp hunt. Sons a bitches were luring crazy Twi-hard kids out with the promise of a little dirty, dark, immortal love and then turning them into a blood meal." Dean pauses, takes a sip of his drink and a long look at Sam.

"I tracked a guy into the alley with a girl and saw him biting at her, but he turned out to be just some horny nerd using bad poetry and plastic fangs to get laid. I turned around to go find you and there was this huge, beast of a fang standing there. He called me 'pretty boy' and he was just coming at me before I could think."

Dean is staring at Sam again, his eyes practically begging him to hear what he's saying. "Now this next part, Sam...I just really need you to listen to me, because you were a shell. I mean the light was on in the attic, but nobody was home, if you know what I mean."

Sam is getting frustrated "Dean, just tell me what happened already."

Dean takes a deep breath and holds it, running a hand over the back of his neck, before letting it out in a rush. "It happened pretty quick. I was fighting him but he was huge and before I knew it he had me on the ground and I thought I was a goner. He didn't bite me though, he bit himself on the wrist and then he just..." Dean motions rubbing his wrist his mouth. "I really thought I was a dead, Sam. And I almost was. We went back to the motel and called Samuel, and our crazy, old grandpa showed up with a cure."

"Oh, of course, Samuel had the cure." Sam shakes his head, not following him. "Why would I think that was my fault?"

Dean's head shoots up. "I told you right off, Sam nothing about this is your fault, ok? Get that through your head right now."

"Ok, Dean, ok! Just finish your story." Sam scoffs.

"After we hunted down that vamp and got his blood, we mixed it all up and I was sick for days after, puking my guts out. The foulest, black-blood..." Dean shudders at the memory. "But I guess I was also seeing flashbacks to what happened before I was turned and one thing I saw..." Dean drifts, struggling to continue. "One thing I saw was you, Sam. You were standing in that alley when that son of a bitch was pouring his blood down my throat."

Sam still looks confused. "What does...? What...?"

"You were _standing_ there Sam. Just watching. The whole time."

Sam's face pales a few shades and he looks like he just got sucker punched.

Dean gets up and goes to sit down beside Sam, he just needs to be close to him for this conversation.

"That's when I knew you were really not you. I knew my little brother would never let me get blood-raped by some fang just to gain intel."

Sam's freaking out and Dean is mentally kicking himself for even mentioning this.

"Oh my god, Dean you could have...died...no, worse, you could have become a monster and it was all because..."

Dean cuts him off before he can finish that sentence. "If you even say it was because of you I will punch you so fucking hard you'll be drinking your froo-froo, organic, Greek-yogurt through a straw." "Dammit..." Dean curses under his breath. "Look, Sammy, this is why I didn't want to tell you. I know what a drama queen you are, I knew you'd make this into a big deal. I should have kept my damn mouth closed."

Dean puts a hand on Sam's shoulder and Sam looks up at him with those huge, sad eyes and Dean feels like he's just stabbed a puppy with a pitchfork or something.

"God, Sammy. I really shouldn't have said anything. I just didn't want you to find out about it some other way. From some demon or something. I thought about telling you before but I was afraid that...well this would happen. You know what though, Sam? I mean you did some pretty shady stuff when you were RoboSam, but even without a soul you weren't as bad as some I've seen." Dean feels like he's not being very reassuring and that agonized look Sam wears so well is still etched across his features.

"You still listened to me. You still stuck by my side. You still hunted down monsters and tried to protect people. I mean you were basically running on a string of code, but it's like that spark of decency is hard-wired into your DNA or something. I really mean it, Sam."

Sam looks at Dean with glassy eyes and Dean clears his throat and takes his hand off his shoulder.

"You're just a good kid, Sammy. Always have been. It's like everything we've seen, everything we've done, it should have burned you down a little bit, but it didn't."

Sam nods and bites at his lip to stop it from trembling. "I'm sorry," He whispers "I know, I know, it wasn't really me that did it, I'm just sorry you had to go through all that alone, Dean. I wish I could have been there."

"Alright, enough with guilt, Sam. Anyway, you've been alone plenty of times yourself. It's just how it goes sometimes. But we always get back together, though. No matter how many demons or dicks with wings try to break us apart."

Dean punches Sam lightly in the arm and Sam jerks out of his reverie. "Let's quit this slumber party conversation before we start painting each other's nails." Dean goes and sits back down on his bed while Sam composes himself.

"Dean?" Sam's eyes are red but he seems to have brightened up a little bit.

"Yeah, Sam?"

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Say exactly the right thing."

"It's a learned skill, Sammy. I've had years of practice calming your crazy moose-butt down."

Sam rolls his eyes but laughs a little.

"Thanks, Dean."

"No problem. Moose."

~end

 **Now comes the part where I publish it and re-read it and go ohhh fuccckkkk I forgot that comma and that one and that one and that word and that should probably be a hyphen...etc. etc. just don't judge me too harshly.**

 **Thank you all for reading my stories! You guys are my people.**

 **Roses are red**

 **Violets are edible**

 **If you review me**

 **That would be incredible.**

 **~original poem by me.**


	3. Take a Sad Song and Make it Better

**Oh guys...this is serious Hallmark territory. Tissue warning because I was nearly crying writing it. But then, I have a lot of feelings soooo...**

 **Written per the recommendation of Lucyh95. I hope this meets expectations :) Also you guys should totally check out her fics! She's got some amazing stories on her page, and you're missing out if you haven't found them.**

 **Enjoy your double-scoop helping of Sam and Mary angst!**

It's after midnight at the bunker.

Sam is sitting at the table, the only light in the room coming from the blue glow of his laptop.

There have been too many nights like this in his life, sitting in front of a screen, researching something about a case with burning eyes, while sleep tries to reach out and grab him.

He needs to go to bed, should have hours ago, and he feels like he could fall asleep right here. But lately, every time he lays down in his bed, rest won't come.

His thoughts drip by one after another, like his brain is a leaking faucet.

It been going on for days now and Sam's not entirely sure what is causing his insomnia, but it's nothing new to him.

"Sam?"

He hears his mother's voice, small and weary, before he sees her.

Suddenly Mary is standing in front of him. She's wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants. Her hair is messy and she looks very flushed and sleepy.

Sam wonders how many nights she had looked just like this, getting up to rock him or Dean to sleep when they were babies.

Until the very last time. When she had gone to his room to comfort him on her last night on earth.

"Hey, mom." He looks up and smiles, a tired smile, tinged with something that makes the expression seem melancholy and out of place.

"How's the research coming along?" She sits down in a chair beside his and rubs a hand over the back of her neck; it's a nervous tick, Sam notices she seems to do it whenever the mood is tenuous.

"It's going ok." Sam states simply. "Why are you up, mom? Is everything alright?"

Mary nods "I was just laying in bed trying to sleep, when I realized I never heard that soothing sound of you gargling for 20 minutes." She laughs and Sam looks mortified.

"I didn't realize that you could hear that all the way in your room."

Mary laughs again "You can hear it all over the bunker, Sam. It's ok. I'm glad Dean raised you to have proper oral hygiene."

Sam smirks, "Dean? Nah. It was self-taught. Dean barely remembered to change out of his clothes, most nights."

Sam runs a hand through his long hair and suddenly, without apparent cause, the mood changes.

"Honestly, Sam, what are you still doing awake?" Mary asks after a pause. "I don't think that a possible werewolf in Pennsylvania is worth staying up until dawn to research."

"I'm fine, Mom." Sam tries to push on past the topic of his welfare, but Mary looks at him like she can see right through him, and, after a minute, he sighs and speaks honestly. "It's just...dark thoughts. I have nights like this sometimes."

Mary won't let it go at that. "I know that I've been...distant, since I've come back." She looks supremely guilty and Sam thinks that the word 'distant' doesn't begin to cover it. "But, I really hope that you and Dean feel you can come to me with any problem. I'm still your mother." She tilts her head and quirks a sadly hopeful smile.

Sam nods minutely and continues. "Mom..." he falters, running a hand over his tired eyes, "I've done some things."

There's a long pause where Mary just keeps looking at him, waiting to see if he will continue.

Finally he does. "I've seen a side of myself that scares me so much. I was born with a darkness hanging over me, like birthmark, it's branded me and...and it's never really...faded out entirely." He looks at his mom intensely, and sees a sudden blink of awful understanding in her eyes.

"Oh, Sam." She looks like she wants to reach out and touch him but she hesitates and he can see that she's afraid to be spurned.

"I didn't know. I had no idea what Azazel had planned for that night."

Sam wants to forgive her, he really does, but something inside him clenches at her denial and he shakes his head. He shuts the lid to his laptop and repositions himself so that he is facing his mother directly. "Mom, you had to know that whatever Azazel wanted to do, it wasn't gonna be good. What I don't understand is...how could you still make that deal?" His voice comes out harsh and biting, he can't help himself. There are too many years of pain and anger behind it all. He breathes to clear his mind.

"I can't justify it, Sam." Mary has tears glinting in her eyes as she speaks, but it's like a far-off emotion, she just stares into the distance and Sam can practically see the bad memories reflected in her glassy eyes.

"I had just lost John. And he was the only thing in my life at that time, the only lifeline I had. Dad..." her eyes flicker up to Sam's "your grandpa, he already had my life mapped out for me. I was a good hunter even then and he was just sure I'd follow in his footsteps. I couldn't do that. I just couldn't live that life for one more second. And John was everything I needed and to lose him..."she huffs into silence for a second, then continues, wiping at the few tears that track down her cheeks "to lose him to some stupid demon after everything. I couldn't let that happen."

It's a simple enough motivation, Sam understands it on a lot of levels, he's made deals to bring Dean back, done horrible things for his brother and he realizes that his mom, like him, never wanted this life of blood and fear that was thrust upon her, is still being thrust upon her, long after the natural law should have allowed. He understands, he wants to forgive her, but it's just not that simple.

"But, Mom. I just, sometimes I think, if you hadn't made that deal, if you had let Dad go that night, the world would be so much better off." Sam's voice is tight and high and he huffs off into silence after the last word.

Mary's head shoots up. "Don't you ever. Ever. Talk like that. I know I don't have the right to order you around but I swear, Sam, you say anything like that again and I'll...I don't know. I'll tell Dean. And *he'll* kick your ass." She smiles through her tears and Sam's mood almost lifts, but he can't quite bring himself to let this go that easily.

"I killed people, mom. I've done things that I...I can't even talk about, I've been...through things...and I just..." Sam doesn't know what else to say so he drifts off.

Mary takes a long time to respond and when she does it's hesitantly, she's trying not to cross a line that hasn't quite been established yet.

"I haven't known you very long, Sam," she starts "I've missed out on so much. But I didn't have to be in the room with you for more than two minutes before I could see what kind of a man you'd become. You are *so good, Sam. I can just feel it. It's there in everything you do, everything you say. It's in your eyes and in your actions. You and your brother are so strong and brave and you got that from yourselves. It was born into you. I wasn't there to teach it to you and that will haunt me for eternity...but, Sam...I'm so proud of the men you've become." She breaks off and suddenly she's got her hand on Sam's arm.

He jerks a little, and then relaxes. It's nothing. A simple gesture. It's just everything he's always wanted; his mom talking to him, and comforting him when he can't sleep.

He remembers the late night stories Dean would tell about her when Sam was really missing his mom, all about Hey Jude and vanilla perfume and how much she loved him. It's a feeling of safety he didn't even fully understand until this moment.

"You and Dean are my greatest creations," she continues "the best things to ever come from me and John. And if making that deal allowed me to be with John for several more years and create you two, then, I'm sorry, but I don't regret that."

More tears are spilling over as she speaks, but her voice comes out strong and she holds onto Sam's arm with a strength that doesn't seem possible for her small hands.

Sam can't meet her eyes because he fears breaking down himself, so he just stares at a point on the wall and nods rapidly, the way he does when he's close to tears.

He realizes she's not gonna let up until he's said something, so he looks at her finally, the look of motherly love in her eyes making him feel more whole than he has in a long time.

"Ok, mom." He chokes.

Mary lets go of Sam's arm and wipes her face quickly "Alright, that's enough touchy-feely stuff," she smiles sadly, an expression that is remarkably similar to Dean's, lighting her eyes, and stands up.

"You coming, Sam?" She says as she heads to bed.

"In a minute." He replies. She starts to walk away and he speaks before she gets to the hall

"Hey, Mom?"

She turns around to hear what he's gonna say next and suddenly he's lost his ability to speak again. He breathes the words out, thickly after a second, "D..do...do you think we'll ever be ok? Me, you, Dean, Cas? Our family?"

Mary strides across the room and sits back down in front of her youngest. He's looking down at his lap and twisting his hands, anxiously. She takes him by the chin and lifts his head so that his eyes meet hers. "I do, Sam." She states simply.

She strokes her thumb along his cheek and Sam breathes out and melts into her touch.

"My baby. My baby, Sam." she whispers fondly, looking at him like she's gone back in time.

Suddenly, he hears her singing under her breath. It's faint and stilted and he wonders if she even knows she's doing it, but there's no mistaking the words; "hey Jude, don't make it bad, take a sad song, and make it better..." they sit like that for a long, long time, Sam closing his eyes and leaning into his mother's hand while she sings faintly.

It's not possible to heal thirty years of misery and abandonment in one night, but when they finally shake themselves out of their quiet trance, when Mary stops singing the quiet lullaby, when at last, Sam drifts off to his room, he falls down on his bed and sleep overtakes him.

And he sleeps like he hasn't since the last time he fell asleep in his mother's arms.

He sleeps..well, like a baby.

~end

 **Thanks for reading as always! Hope you enjoyed this latest installment in my fix-it fic series.**

 **P.S. Feel free to rant in my inbox about how wrong it is that we never got any scenes like this between Sam and Mary. They bring Mary back and then they don't even let her and Sam bond properly? How do they sleep at night?**

 **P.P.S. Ok, this is random, but have any of you clicked the read-aloud option at the top of the app? I don't know if it's available on the browser, but in the app it's just like a headphones symbol. I had to share this find with you, because it is pure comedy-gold.**

 **That tinny, serious, computer voice reading aloud my dewy-eyed, fangirl gushings made my entire night.**

 **This has been a public service announcement. You're welcome.**


	4. Guardian

**Hey there! I should be working on my multi-chapter story, but for the moment I'm still just rolling thoughts around and ironing out the details on that one.**

 **So this little fix-it comes to you because I just watched "Let it Bleed" in season 6 and Sam's reaction to Dean mind-wiping Lisa and Ben...well that was not right. He wouldn't have just lectured him and then not tried to help in some way. At least in my opinion.**

 **I understand about time constraints and that they can't address every little detail, so I guess fanfic will have to fill in this plot hole.**

 **I volunteer! Hope you enjoy my fix it.**

 **"Angel of god, my guardian dear**

 **To whom god's love, commits me here**

 **Every this day be at my side to light and guard**

 **To rule and guide."~Children's prayer.**

Sam doesn't mention Lisa and Ben.

When they drive away from the hospital and Dean can hardly see through his tears, he doesn't mention them.

As they go down the road, back to Bobby's and there's a silence in the car so heavy it makes Sam squirm, he doesn't mention them.

When they get back to Bobby's house and Dean doesn't eat, even though Bobby's made chili and bought an apple pie just for him, he says nothing.

When Dean lays down on the foldout couch in the living room with a bottle of whiskey and no glass and starts sucking it down like it's warm milk, Sam keeps quiet.

After Dean falls into a restless sleep, still fully dressed, on top of the blankets, clutching the half-empty bottle to his chest like it's his anchor in a storm, Sam just watches him silently from the other room.

When Bobby slips into the kitchen with beer and heavy eyes and asks Sam "how's he doin'?" Sam makes sure his big brother is asleep and then he finally talks.

"They meant more to him than I realized," he whispers it like a guilty plea, "I lectured him. He was broken and I lecture him, god forgive me."

Sam runs a hand down his face, looking like he's aged about 10 years in the last day.

"What'd that fool do, anyway?" Bobby narrows his eyes and Sam sighs.

"He had Cas wipe their memories."

"Wiped their memories? How much did he take?"

"Everything about the last year, I'm assuming, everything about monsters and everything to do with him. I called him shady, but I think that was probably one of the most unselfish things he's done in a long time."

Bobby shakes his head and stares at Dean, lying in a mess of wrinkled clothes and blankets on the foldout. "What does this solve exactly? This drive-thru angel therapy of Cas's don't do nothin' but make 'em feel safe when they damn well shouldn't, cause they're anything *but* safe."

Sam nods, "I know, Bobby."

"Whatever demonic freak-show comes along next is just gonna snatch 'em up, and Dean's gonna be right back where he started. Only this time they ain't gonna know to call him for help."

Dean stirs in the other room and Bobby and Sam go silent, holding their breath.

After a minute Dean stops moving and Sam speaks again. "We need to find a way to protect them without telling them anything."

Bobby nods, "well good luck with that, son. I don't know what kinda charm or spell you can conjure that's gonna last forever, but if anyone can find somethin' it'd be you."

Bobby gathers up the bowls and untouched pie and his empty beer bottle and piles everything on the counter, not bothering to put it all away.

"I'm gonna get some shut eye, and if you know what's good for ya you will too."

"Alright, Bobby, I'm just gonna do some research." Sam opens his laptop and starts reading but he keeps thinking about Dean's face after he'd yelled at him at the hospital, his heartbroken expression when they drove away from the woman and son that he'd loved like a family for over a year.

After a minute Sam gets up and goes out to where his brother is sleeping.

Dean looks so uncomfortable, still in his jeans and boots, the bottle of whiskey is still clutched against his chest and a bit of it trickles out whenever Dean inhales, wetting his t-shirt in a dark pool of stale alcohol.

Sam bends down, and very slowly and gently takes the bottle out of Dean's grip. Normally this would make Dean shoot awake, and possibly he'd wake up shooting, if Sam was particularly unlucky and he had a gun under his pillow. But Dean is exhausted from alcohol and the events of the last couple of days and he just stirs lightly, catching a breath while his eyelids flutter with R.E.M. sleep.

Sam sighs quietly and gets a worn, plaid blanket off of Bobby's old armchair and wraps it around Dean. "What were you thinking, man?" He mutters under his breath.

Then he goes back to his laptop and types something in the search bar.

Sam flips through pages of information until long after midnight, eyes burning from lack of sleep.

At around 5 in the morning he sits up straighter, rubs his eyes and zeroes in on what is the first bit of helpful information he's come across.

After a minute, he gets up and goes out into the scrap yard.

It's still dark outside, light just beginning to peek at the edges of the horizon.

His breath puffs out in smoking clouds and he sends up a prayer to Cas.

Around 8 the next morning Dean stirs and sees Sam slumped over in the armchair near the couch. He's got his head rested in his hand and he looks for all the world like a vulnerable kid, cheeks flushed and hair a mess.

He catches sight of something shining in Sam's left hand, he's holding it tightly, some kind of silver chain. Dean rubs his eyes which feel like they're full of sand despite the fact that he's gotten more consecutive hours of sleep than he's had all week. On top of that he's got a raging headache-drinking a fifth of Jack before bed doesn't make for a good morning.

"Sammy?" Dean mutters. His voice comes out hoarse and he clears his throat.

Sam jolts, looking like he's coming out of a bad dream, then calms himself. "Hey, man. You're awake."

"What are you doing sleeping in a chair, dude? Bobby's got a real bed for you upstairs and I don't need a babysitter."

"I just drifted off here I guess." Dean watches as Sam tucks the necklace into his pocket and his curiosity gets the best of him.

"What you got there, Sam?" He asks.

"It's nothing." Sam says it with a guarded expression that tells Dean it's clearly something.

"Aren't you the one always going on about not keeping secrets?"

"I'm pretty sure whoever is currently being lied to is usually the one going on about that." Sam mutters.

"So...you're lying?"

"Dean I just woke up give me a second..." Sam stretches and groans then gives up and reaches into his pocket, taking the necklace back out. He gets up and walks over to Dean who's sitting up on the edge of the couch.

"I was gonna wait until we'd at least had some coffee before I showed you this, but I guess I can't wait anymore."

Dean looks at the trinket in Sam's outstretched hand in silent confusion. It's a medal, attached to a long, silver chain and there's a picture of an angel engraved on one side and some kind of inscription on the back.

"What is it?" He asks

"It's a guardian angel medal. I found it with some of dad's things after he died. I think it belonged to mom." Sam pauses. "Anyway, it got me thinking last night."

Dean waits for Sam to continue but he just stands there looking at nothing for a minute.

"Ok...?" He prompts

"Permission to speak without getting my nose broken?"

Sam looks Dean right in the eyes when he says it and Dean feels a cold wave of dread creep over him. This is bound to be about Lisa and Ben and he's just not ready to talk about them. He doesn't think he ever will be.

"No promises, Sammy." He says flatly.

Sam sighs and goes on anyway, with no thought for his own self-preservation. "Well, last night after you went to bed, I started researching and I found something. Cas helped me out the most though. Might wanna thank him the next time you see him, actually."

Dean's getting frustrated, "Sam, what are you talking about? Mom, Cas, medals, guardian angels, I can't keep up."

Sam sits down beside him on the pull-out and takes a deep breath before continuing. "I prayed to Cas last night because I had an idea about how to protect Lisa and Ben. Now that they don't remember anything I was worried they might be more vulnerable to attacks from monsters." Dean looks down and clenches his jaw, and he's sure that Sam can see by his expression that the same thought had occurred to him, was plaguing him ever since he left the hospital.

"So I asked Cas to do us a favor."

"What did he do?" Dean's nervous and he watches Sam with narrowed eyes, waiting, as always, for some kind of bad news.

"He's kind of in charge of heaven right now, you know? Well, he's one of the most powerful angels up there anyway, so I asked him if he could assign someone to Lisa and Ben...and it turns out...there's a lower order of angels specifically dedicated to protection. They're called guardian angels. They're like the body guards of heaven. Cas pulled a few strings and...long story short, Lisa and Ben now have their own set of angelic badasses." Sam's smiling, it's a look of pure, wonderful happiness, like he's gonna burst just from the joy of finally getting to convey something positive for once.

Dean's posture changes, his shoulders slump a bit in shock and he meets Sam's eyes at last.

Sam continues. "That medal, Cas said it has some minor power, it's a connection to the angels. If you wanna know how they're doing you can say the prayer on the back and, I haven't tried it yet, but Cas claims it will glow if they're ok."

Dean's silent for awhile, studying the back of the medal. Sam sees his lips moving and there's a moment of tense waiting as he stares down at the little sterling silver trinket. Suddenly, he jerks a bit as the medal is illuminated by a faint golden light.

"It works." His voice is a quiet gasp and Sam smiles at the look of childlike wonder that crosses Dean's face. There's not much these days that can put that look on his hardened, hell-worn big brother.

"Thanks, Sam." He mutters after a long moment. Then he looks up "Thanks, Cas." He says quietly. The medal in his hand is still shimmering slightly when he lifts it over his head and slips it down around his neck. He settles it into place under his shirt, next to his heart. And breathes a sigh of relief.

~end

 **I know very little about Guardian Angels, only the prayer I learned as a Catholic school girl years ago. But this felt like a good way that Sam could ensure Lisa and Ben were safe without telling them anything about Dean.**

 **I hope it wasn't too wild and out there; at least it's based on some real lore.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Review, pwease? :)**


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